A Change of Character
by WickerB
Summary: Who does Alanna's grim decision alter more? Herself, or the least likely saviour? (Finished!)


Author's Notes: This is a little ditty that has been buzzing around in my head until it annoyed me into writing it. My first Pierce fic, but it's worth a shot. Both of them were a little hard to work with, because they would have had almost completely alternate lives from the books, one if not the other. Feedback is very much appreciated! If you flame, that's okay too. I need a flame sometimes. It's a vanity deflator, if anything. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Tamora Pierce's characters, yada yada yada. You get my drift. 

Alanna of Trebond sat on the hard pavement of the courtyard, her clothes ruffled from the undignified position. Hard rain hit her like a sack of flour, but she could care less. It meant that no one would come out to bother her, not when blackness churned the buttery clouds. Lightning struck nearby. It didn't matter, the thunder would muffle her sobs and the rain disguised her tears.

She had swiped a long knife from the kitchen earlier; it now lay in her disgustingly soft palm, softened by the loss of labour. She closed her eyes, muttering a prayer to the Great Mother Goddess, telling her why this she choose this.

Elongated years at the Covenant had driven her insane, The dull walls, unintelligent chatter about Corus and handsome knights, and scorn she had perceived for this duration of her life had become unbearable. She knew court would be the same. 

No one had thought much of her abrupt silence over the past few weeks. For the majority of her 4 years, she had snapped back at the teachers and struggled as much as she could, just to not ride side saddle once, or to practice her archery, or just simply to get outside. The young ladies thought that she was finally learning her place as a woman in high society – to be seen, not heard.

"It's about time she stopped having tantrums," they would whisper to one another, "She's finally realized that they give her the strap for a reason." The strap was rarely ever used on the girls, and to receive it meant utter shame to the victim. Alanna had misbehaved so much that no one kept track anymore about how many times that leather slapped her skin. When the Mother Priestess had noticed that she no longer was getting constant reports on Alanna's horrible behaviour, she had personally sought her out and congratulated her on the change. Alanna simply stared at her with her unnatural purple eyes, once vibrant and feisty, now dead. The Priestess only saw acceptance.

Alanna raised the knife, glittering invitingly at her. She stared fixedly at it for a moment, before placing it to her chest. She mumbled forgiveness, and hushed a sniffle. She scrunched up her face, preparing for the pain about to rip through her.

Alanna had begun to drive it in when it was suddenly ripped from her grip and cast across the courtyard. A trickle of red dripped from the small wound she had incurred before the interruption, strong hands grasping her. Alanna stared, entranced, at the far away knife.

"What do you think you're doing?" The voice was distinctly male, and sounded both frightened and scolding. Alanna cursed inwardly. The noise that had drowned out her own cries must have also silenced this man's footsteps. She looked up to face him. He looked to have a handsome face (though it was hard to tell with such dim light), with brilliant blue eyes and black hair. He seemed to be very tall, from her estimations, at least a head gained on her height. His face had a mask of confusion and concern, for all that she was a complete stranger to him.

Alanna opened her mouth to reply, only to choke on her misery. The man glanced around at the turbulent weather, and helped Alanna up. He let her lean on him as she hobbled after his lead into the convent stables. Something itched at the back of her mind about this man, but she ignored it. 

He set her down on a hayloft and lit a torch with his Gift, so that they could see each other better. She had guessed correctly about his looks, though now she could clearly see the signs of nobility wrought in his garb. _Of all the people to find you trying to commit suicide_… she muttered inwardly. 

"Why were you trying to stab yourself?" he insisted, now that they were sheltered from the rain. "You owe me an explanation."

"I owe you nothing," Alanna's voice trembled. "I didn't want you to stop me, and I didn't ask you either." The man raised an eyebrow.

"I just saved your life. It's not everyday I come to here from Corus and find someone committing suicide in the middle of a thunderstorm. I'd like to know why this time I did." His face was set in a stubborn manner to match Alanna's. _He's not going to leave me be until I tell him_, she thought, _but I can outwait him. If I refuse long enough and am rude enough, maybe he'll leave._

"I was going to save my life by ending it. And it's none of your business anyway, so don't go nosing into it. I'll do what I please," Alanna replied as stuffily as she could, but it was rather hard to sound snobby when she was still silently crying.

"Bullshit," he said bluntly. "You can't save your life by ending it. You don't have a reason to die. Nothing's that harsh that it can't get better."

"You aren't a lady, and you aren't me, so what would you know!" Alanna spat. Normally she would've realized that yelling at a Gifted noble wasn't a very good idea, but she was in no state of mind to consider this.

"What's so bad about being a lady?" he asked, his eyes never straying from hers. "All you do is get to fall in love, live in riches, and raise children for the rest of your life. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Everything's wrong with it!" Alanna accused, not knowing that she was letting her guard down in way for frustration and anger. "We're expected to just sit there and be pretty and stupid, not ever thinking about anything more than ourselves and the next stupid ball. We're not allowed to do anything at all! No hunting, no fishing, no fighting, no learning-"

He interrupted her. "Let me get this straight. You want to learn how to fight? Is that why you're so upset?"

"It's not the only thing," she admitted, biting her lip. "I have no friends here. I get the strap every other hour just because I don't like lady things. My father died not too long ago-" she paused for a minute, to collect herself. "All the people who understood me left – Maude only comes every year, and she's sick now with something that the local healers can't treat. Coram went to the palace with Thom and is now taking after Trebond, and Thom-" Alanna stopped herself. She didn't want to say it aloud. She hated to even think about her twin.

"Yes?" he prompted, his tone softened from before. 

"He was trying to save the – the Prince, from this Sweating Sickness and he did save him – but he – he –" Alanna swallowed, "died. Just like – like that. It used every – little bit of his Gift – just to bring back the Prince – but he exhausted himself to death."

The man's face was unreadable as Alanna let more tears slide down her cheeks. She couldn't feel ashamed to talk to him now, not now that she had just confirmed to him what she had tried to deny for years. "He just wanted to be a sorcerer – the most powerful one. He didn't like the things that – knights do. I like them, not him. Neither of us – we never got to do – just what we wanted to do. There's no hope for me left. I – I thought I might as well just end it, before I really did go mad. I was going to. I can't stand it here, with Thom and – and Father, and…" She ended it there, she figured he must have the point in his head now. To have to repeat what she had just said would be unbearable for Alanna. 

"I can understand your grief," he said slowly, his eyes now burning holes into the ground. "But if I were you, I wouldn't assume it to all be over. You could still make a change for the better."

"How?!" she snapped, enraged once more. "You can't bring them back from the dead! You can't make them stop scorning me! You can't make me a knight!" He shook his head.

"Only two out of three, I'm afraid. I cannot raise people back from the dead, nor would I if I could, and I can't control what people think of you. I can, however, teach you how to fight." Alanna looked at him, her face alight with interest. The runs on her cheeks stopped flowing for a moment, left to dry. 

"What?" she half-squeaked. A slight smile traced his mouth.

"I am a full knight of the Crown. I'll be here for 3 weeks, then return to Corus. I could arrange visits back here to make lessons with you. While I am gone from here, you can have a chance to master the skills I'll teach you. Once you come to Court, we can continue. That is, if you'd be willing to learn." His face searched hers, waiting for Alanna's answer.

_Is he for real?_ She asked herself. _Can I trust him? What will he want in return for this?_ "What's the price?" Alanna questioned suspiciously. "I haven't got much money to pay you with, and that's what you'll want. No one would do anything for free." He shook his head again, drying hair whipping his face.

"No pay. It'll make me happy just to know that you won't kill yourself in return for this. I have no need for riches, I have plenty already," he assured her. Alanna saw only truth in him. There was no falseness in his tone, and his expression was genuine. She could trust him, she decided. 

"Promise?" Alanna pleaded. He nodded, and stood up, helping her to her feet. "When will I meet you?"

"Tomorrow. Don't worry about finding me, I'll find you." 

Alanna turned to leave, then hesitated. "Sir, the Priestesses-"

"-need never know," the man finished for her. "Go, before you're missed. And don't bother thinking about touching that knife." Alanna smiled and left to head back to the grey convent. Perhaps she could get through this.

It wasn't until she had tucked into bed that she realized that she never asked for his name.

~*&*~

Duke Roger of Cont'e climbed the stairs to his rooms in the Mithran Cloisters, placed conveniently next to the convent. He stripped his soaked outer layer and put on his night robes, thinking about what had just happened. 

_The girl could prove useful_, he thought, and then stopped. Why should she get involved with his plans to take the throne? Hadn't she enough troubles already?

_Your Sweating Sickness killed her brother, and it almost killed her because of it_, the nasty little conscious retorted. _Why must you destroy so many more lives when only there are only three you want?_

Roger frowned. It had been a long time since he had heard his conscious engage in warfare with himself. Was that girl responsible?

_Who cares how many are killed, if you get the throne anyway?_ Roger puzzled over this. Why should he care about other people's silly problems? 

_Perhaps tonight was a lesson_, the conscious replied. _To show you the value of a life. Maybe you shouldn't demand the lives of the Royal Family either._ He sat down on the bed and sighed. Why was he suddenly question what he had been planning for years, unless something inside wanted to stop him. 

His conscious took advantage of this consideration. _ What has Jonathan done to you? Or any of them, for that matter?_

_They took the Crown from me!_

_Was it yours in the first place?_

Roger studied the ring on his left hand. It was a gift from Queen Lianne, of Midwinter three summers ago. She obviously didn't loathe him. She hadn't laid a single harm on his head. Neither had his uncle, or his cousin.

_Since when do they matter!_ his other side sniped. _You will be King, and anyone who's foolish enough to get in your way deserves to die._

_You would have killed her. It would've been your fault had she gone through with it. Either you didn't stop her, or you killed her brother, you would have been to blame if she'd gone through with it. Unnatural as it is, a woman with an interest in fighting could be an asset to any realm. Even if it's in the oddest way imaginable._

Roger slapped his forehead and pulled the covers over him, dousing the candle nearby with his Gift. He wanted to sleep. Not fight with himself, just sleep. He had plenty of time to do that in the morning. 

_You can change yet_, the voice said, as he drifted off to sleep. _It will take a while, but you can change. I'll see some good in you yet._

Alright, so Roger is a little OOC, but so was Wyldon when he kissed Kel on the forehead in Lady Knight! R & R!


End file.
